Going to the Max: The IMAX Experience

Despite being more expensive, going to see a movie being screened on an IMAX screen has been leading the industry’s rebound in revenue and attendance. Through the first six weeks of 2012, IMAX ticket sales were $55 million in the U.S., a 45% increase over the same period in 2011. According to USA Today, the “surge outpaces the industry’s overall rebound of about 20 percent. The key is that the IMAX experience, which is predicated on screens up to 60 feet tall, cannot be reproduced on ipods, laptops, television screens, or even home "theaters."

The IMAX screen. Anyone considering getting one installed at home might want to consider adding a few more floors and a cathedral ceiling first. (Wikimedia Commons)

IMAX is “fulfilling the promise that 3-D didn’t keep, that it would be unlike anything you’ve seen,” says Jeff Bock of Exhibitor Relations, “(a)nd unlike great sound or 3-D glasses, you can’t replicate IMAX at home unless you have a six-story screen.” It is principally because IMAX is only available in theatres (and museums) that the number of IMAX screens tripled from 2008 to 2012. This has major implications for the sort of films that theatres will want to show, as not all films are equal with respect to the advantages of the large screen.

Films such as Titanic are literally tailor-made for a huge screen. In general, action films, such as John Carter, and animated films, such as The Lorax, take most advantage of the big screen. Dramas, on the other hand, are less well-suited, with the caveat that a cinematography that includes sweeping landscapes can come off as vistas when shown on IMAX. Even so, it might be that as the technological means to watch films proliferates, only screenplays particularly suited to the IMAX will be oriented to theatres. Obviously, this is a generality; it would likely still be in the theatre owners’ interest to retain the traditional screens, and thus continue to show dramas. Even so, the demand for them—unlike the films that play well on IMAX—is likely to be stagnant or decline.

The implication for screenwriters is that the type of venue should be more salient in the writing. If the story is apt to be particularly well suited to be shown on IMAX screens, this could be reflected in how the characters look as well as what they do. It might be that the elements that play so well on IMAX are such that the narrative itself is diminished. If so, additional attention to the story elements may be advisable. In John Carter, for example, viewers may be so captivated by the large characters that the plot could fall by the wayside. Making the major story elements (e.g., critical event) more salient could counter this effect of the big screen. Regarding stories not so inclined to IMAX, the screenwriter might want to consider how the writing could take into account the small screen (e.g., ipod or laptop) format. It might be more difficult, for example, to follow a lot of action.  By implication, directors should also consider the impact of the format (e.g., filming action at a distance in a drama to be viewed mostly on ipods and laptops). In fact, the editing process could even take into account the viewing format by putting out two different versions (sort of like the theatrical and director’s cuts now).

In short, if cinemas are to survive, it could be because they can proffer something that no other venue can have. IMAX is a case in point. This does not mean that all films are equally well suited to the format. Even for the film genres that take particular advantage of being shown on a large screen, theatre owners should encourage screenwriters, directors and editors to take the format into account. It could even be that some types of story (and even some elements, such as the climax) are particularly well suited to being shown on IMAX (as well as in 3-D). Moreover, the relationship between technology and narrative warrants more attention. Indeed, it may be that the twenty-first century may be known to future historians for how technology told stories.

Source:

Scott Bowles, “IMAX Is Delivering What 3-D Couldn’t,” USA Today, March 22, 2012. 

Titantic: Film Chasing History

James Cameron’s Titanic was released in 1997—twelve years after the wreck had been found in the icy north Atlantic. By 2013, there had been enough empirical study on how the ship actually broke apart and went down that we could look back at the depiction in Cameron’s film as at least in part erroneous. Interestingly, Cameron himself sponsored and was actively involved with the studies that would effectively “semi-fictionalize” his own depiction. Rather than trying to protect his depiction by getting the studies to confirm what his best guess had been at the time of filming, Cameron engaged in a determined effort to get to a definitive answer as to what really happened. This in turn lead to some interesting questions.

According to Cameron's documentary in 2012, the back end of Titanic only reached 23 degrees, far less than depicted in this picture (and in the 1997 movie). Source: fxguide.

In any historical piece, the “film world” is not the same as what really happened. The sad truth is that the world of the past is forever lost once it is past. Seeing Daniel Day Lewis as Lincoln (2012), I could not but think that the former president must really have been as depicted. However, much of my image of what Lincoln must have been like has come from the myriad of stories. As a child, I had seen his log cabin in Salem, Illinois, and his law office and house in Springfield, and I had watched other portrayals of the man on television. Even as I marveled at Lewis’s depiction of the man, I found the screenplay itself too idealistic. For instance, Lincoln represented large railroads as a lawyer in Illinois, and he overruled his own Secretary of the Interior in agreeing to pay the transcontinental railroads mountain rates for building track on flat land in the West. It is odd, therefore, that in trying to get votes on the anti-slavery amendment, he is depicted in the film as being so concerned that no bribes be paid. In short, Hollywood seems hardpressed to completely expunge the accumulated mythos element even when trying for historical realism.

To take advantage of having access to Titanic’s wreckage before it is completely eaten by bacteria, Cameron did not rest with what had been theorized at the time of his film-shoots. He sponsored additional studies, bringing the experts together and turning that meeting into a documentary in 2012. In doing so, he knowingly risked making his own depiction obsolete, or at least partially flawed. As shown in his documentary, he was more interested in getting as close to what really happened than protecting his depiction. The issue for him was whether to reshoot the ending. Seeing a potential series of such changes as more and more is grasped  or theories change, he decided to keep his original ending.

His decision is in line with highlighting the dramatic, even if at the expense of new knowledge. I have in mind the scene in which the back of the ship is standing vertical in the air. The two protagonists “ride” the ship down until it submerges. As of Cameron’s documentary, the studies postulated that the steepest angle was 23 degrees, with the ship splitting in half at that point. The back end sank into the water, turning over as it did so. Of course, this too must be taken as conjecture. There was no video taken at the actual scene, and the eye-witness accounts differ. The frustrating truth is that we will never have a flawless picture of what really happened. This is not to say that progress cannot be made, and Cameron should be applauded for being so determined on this task even though his depiction in the film stood to lose ground. Indeed, after watching the video depiction that Cameron made in his documentary, I view his film differently—at least the now-rather-extreme vertical position of the back end of the ship.

In his documentary, Cameron points to the hubris that when into the ship “that could not sink.” The preoccupation with size got ahead of itself. Put another way, systemic risk was ignored. Similarly, he points out, we did not see the iceberg coming in 2008 as the economy hit an unknown quantity of mortgage-backed derivatives and insurance swaps. Even after that, he goes on, we were headed right for a global-warming “iceberg” with a “rudder” too small to avoid the obstacle in time. Just today, the Huffington Post ran a headline concerning climate change, “Its Happening.” At the end of his documentary, Cameron suggests that too many people holding power are making money in the status quo for a sufficient amount of change (i.e., rudder) to occur before “it hits.” It is as though Titanic’s captain could see the iceberg far out in front yet was too invested in the ship’s course to deviate.

Even in assuming back in 1997 that Cameron captured on film what really happened (I made that assumption), there is hubris. Even the updated graphic in Cameron’s documentary in 2012 should be taken as provisional. As stated above, we will never be able to know what really happened. Whether in what we think we know about a bygone world, building a ship that cannot sink, leaving new financial instruments unregulated, or putting off legislation that would counter global warming, we as a species presume we know more than we do. We naturally get ahead of ourselves, and thus ironically risk our own progress and indeed even our very future as a species.

The Wolf of Wall Street: Greed as Excess

Greed is indeed a major player on Wall Street. Perhaps this is why films on the financial world embellish the behavior; film-goers might otherwise fall asleep. It is much more difficult to see greed fueling the embellishment highs in the process of film-making. Perhaps both Wall Street and Hollywood are glitz on the outside, but supercharging the inside hardly does justice to either venture. In this essay, I discuss Jordan Belfort, an actual financier on Wall Street and the main character in the (fictionalized?) Wolf of Wall Street (2013) so as to flesh out the different ways in which sordid greed manifests in modern society.

In 1991, Robert Shearin could only repress his frustration as brokers at Stratton Oakmont unloaded their own shares in penny stocks while ignoring the sell orders of Shearin and other investments. "By the end it was constant screaming matches with these people," Shearin recalls. "They would just ignore my sell orders."[1]

The “suck and dump” scheme ran from 1988 to 1996. Twenty years later, the investment firm’s founder and CEO, Jordan Belfort, was still wheeling and dealing. After 22 months in prison followed by a period probation until 2009 during which half of his income had to go toward the $110 million in restitution, he was brazenly holding the remaining restitution ($98.4 million) owed to his shafted clients as hostage in negotiations with Loretta Lynch, the U.S. attorney for the Eastern District of New York. Since the end of the probation, Belfort had paid restitution of only $243,000 on income of millions from his two memoirs, the sale of the film rights, and motivational speaking fees.[2]  Although legal, the post-probation skimping effectively nullifies his claim of being a changed man. "I was not such a good guy back in the day. But I'm a good guy now. I am. I live my life with such integrity," he told the New York Daily News in October of 2013.[3] Yet at his speaking engagements, he would repeatedly quip, “Hey, at least no one got killed.”[4] Hearing about this crafty way of evading questions, Diane Nyggard, the attorney who represented Shearin and twenty-four other investors whom Belfort fleeced, replied, "I guess you could say no one was murdered. But a lot of lives were ruined, and many of the more elderly investors never recovered."[5] Poverty, especially that which comes out of treachery, is a sort of death that gradually saps the body and abruptly snuffs out the the spirit, leaving in its wake walking corpses who cannot afford even to haunt the bewindowed towers.

At the end of 2013, Belfort was still trying to weasel out of paying the remaining 90 percent of the restitution still owed to over a thousand former clients, including Shearin (who had received only 20 cents on the dollar as restitution). To be sure, Belfort had some leverage in the negotiations, for the 50 percent of income stricture had elapsed at the end of the probationary period so he could legally continue to pay scraps until his death, after which the restitution would abruptly stop. Among other acts, he had spent five years after being arrested in 1998 on securities fraud and money laundering charges wearing a wire, “ratting out friends and colleagues from Stratton Oakmont and testifying against them at trial.”[6] Besides stabbing friends in the back, the founder was essentially making the people whom he had trained and ordered to rip clients off take the hit in his place.

True to form, in the negotiations in 2013 on the remaining $98.6 million, the unchanged man offered to pay all the money from the film and books into the restitution fund if Lynch will substantially reduce the rest of his obligation. With almost all of the $11.4 million having come from sales of Belfort’s properties, the unrepentant swindler was clearly trying to keep the restitution judgment from touching the fortune he had saved from his swindling enterprise.

What lesson can we take from this case concerning the nature of greed? Most principally, it has not only unlimitedness as a salient quality, but also an in\mperviousness to the restraint that comes out of conscience. Put another way, greed does not recognize should. Instead, the desire for an even better deal, ad infinitum, views the external world as potential props that are themselves perceived only in so far as they can potentially be manipulated for gain. Because the last deal is never good enough, as it does not satisfy the desire, the wealth one possesses, including in property, goes practically unnoticed unless it can be manipulated for still more. That is to say, what was once vividly in focus as the aim of the best deal so far is naturally dismissed by greed as it moves on to getting still more for even less.

Going too far, in never being satisfied with enough, can apply to film-making too. In The Wolf of Wall Street, which is based on Belfont's memoires, the credo of film-making that even a story based on a “true story” must push the truth to dramatic exaggeration to hold an audience's attention reduces Belfont and his second in command to a contorted mass of drugged-down humanity on the floor of Belfont's kitchen and side room. Having already provided over-the-top eye candy in the scenes of the office celebrations, Martin Scorsese apparently felt obliged to "kick it up a notch" on the emotional intensity meter by having Leonardo DiCaprio flop around on the floor, tangled in a phone cord while shouting and foaming at the mouth.

DiCaprio plays Jordan Belfort. The character reduces from this realistic image to a floundering fit of over-drugged and over-dramatic human mess. (Image Source: AP)

It is as though film must push its own adrenalin highs, each one more intense than its predecessor, in order to maintain the attention of a hyperactive audience, itself on popcorn laced with speed. With what costs to the story and, ironically, the integrity of the characters does serial exaggeration in a screenplay come? According to Shearin, the audience skates past the grounded gravitas of the characters as real human beings, whether fictitious or based on real people. "Jordan Belfort is not a fictional character, but when DiCaprio plays him he becomes one for the audience," he said. "We like our scoundrels as entertainment, but it's easy to become disengaged from the real harm this guy did."[7] Watching the fun-loving, theatrical Belfort motivate his brokers onscreen does not begin to reveal the man behind the character, who stabbed his friends in the back in order to save himself from the consequences of what he himself had engineered and gotten others to do for him.

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[1] Paul Teetor, “How the “Wolf of Wall Street” Is Still Screwing His Real-Life Victims,” LA Weekly (Blogs), December 16, 2013.

[2] Ibid.

[3] Ibid.

[4] Ibid.

[5] Ibid.

[6] Ibid.

[7] Ibid.

The Television and Cinema Revolution: Virtual Reality and Holograms to Sideline UHD Curves

Ultimate high-definition, or UHD, which refers to television screens sporting at least four times the number of pixels as “mere” high-definition, goes beyond the capacity of the human eye. Hence, the potential problem in going beyond ultimate is moot; we could not visually discern any difference. Even so, I suspect this inconvenient detail would not stop people in marketing from primping the product as “beyond ultimate.” One unfortunate byproduct of such inventive marketing may ironically not be visible at all. Specifically, the illusionary distractions, or marketing mirages, come with an opportunity cost; that is, being suckered into seemingly exciting innovations can distract us from noticing other technological advances whose applications could alter entire industries and transform our daily lives.

At the International Consumer Electronics Show in January, 2014, Sony and Samsung showcased UDH televisions with curved screens. The “more immersive viewing” is possible only on larger screens; John Sciacca, an installer of audio/video, reports that at the small-screen level, the curved shape “has no advantage.”[1] Accordingly, the televisions with the option on display at the electronics show in Las Vegas, Nevada range from 55 to 105-inch screens.[2] The verdict there was mixed, the usual suspects playing their expected roles.

The 105-inch UHD television. Paragon of the 21st century?  (Image Source: Forbes)

Kaz Hirai, the CEO of Sony, insisted in an interview that “some people actually like [the curved screen] very much.”[3] He went on to add, “I personally think it’s a great experience because you do have that feeling of being a little bit more surrounded. . . . After you watch curved TV for a while and then you just watch a flat panel, it looks like, ‘What’s wrong with this panel?’”[4] In the midst of this vintage self-promotion, he did admit, as if as an afterthought, that the curved feature is “not for everyone.”[5]

John Sciacca would doubtless call the matter of preference an understatement. “For displays, at least, curved is a ‘marketing gimmick.’ I know that research has gone into finding the ideal curve for the ideal seating distance, but I think that it is still limiting its best results for a much narrower viewing position.”[6] That is, the curved shape can be counterproductive in settings where more than two or three people are sitting close together straining to capture the sweet spot of ideal viewing. To be sure, at that “dot” on a room diagram, Sciacca admits that the curved shape on big screens (i.e., 55-inch and up) “has real benefits for front projection as it has to do with how the light hits the screen at different points, and a curve helps with brightness uniformity and geometry.”[7] Granted, but who wants to do geometry in order to figure out where to sit?

Accordingly, the curved screen “seems like a marketing thing,” rather than anything “substantive,” says Kurt Kennobie, the owner of an audio-video store in Phoenix.[8] Kaz Hirai would doubtless disagree, at least publically. The usual trajectory of public attention would simply follow this debate back and forth, treating it as though it were a riveting tennis match. The fans getting their adrenaline fix would hardly notice the progress being made in a potentially transformative rather than incremental technology applicable to television and cinema. This invisible cost in chasing after minor points lies, in other words, in missing the big picture, which in this case involves a developing technology that leaps over the “curved” controversy entirely.

What exactly is this so-called revolutionary technology? It already exists, in gaming, which incidentally already merges movie and video-game features, and here’s the key, applied as “virtual reality.” Lest the philosophers among us just caught a whiff of metaphysics, the “reality” to which I refer is simply a novel way of viewing visuals such as video games. The viewing is provided by a headset. 

For example, Avegant’s head-mounted Glyph sports a “virtual retina display.” The devise “makes use of a couple million tiny mirrors—similar to the technology found in DLP projectors—to project a 720p [pixel] image straight onto your retina. The result is a stereoscopic 3D display that has almost zero crosstalk and no noticeable pixelation.”[9] In other words, suddenly the “curved vs flat” debate is obsolete, or trumped, as though by an interloper.

Moreover, the application of Glyph to watching television and movies could marginalize (though I suspect not eliminate) screens, whether in homes or movie theaters. That’s right, the cinemas would face a stiff headwind, and therefore likely be forced to concentrate on their comparative advantage—the “ultra” big screen. I suspect that experience would survive, for people would probably not want to confine all viewing to one mode. Indeed, even the “virtual reality” means of great immersion might have to contend with an even newer mode of viewing—that of the hologram. 

Needless to say, both means would mean changes to how films are written, shot, and edited. Perhaps a given film would have screen, virtual reality, and holograph versions, which at least in the case of virtual reality might involve alternative storylines allowing for viewer choice. A person could ask, for example, “How would the narrative play out were this or that character to die rather than live?”

With the increasing modes of viewing, the world as we know it in the 2010’s could change in such a marked way. In fact, people living in 2100 might look back on 2014 akin to how people in 2000 looked back on the automobile, telephone, and electric light dramatically changing daily life in the 1910’s.  The new viewing applications, along with the development of the internet and mobile devises, could distinguish the 2010’s in retrospect, and, moreover, the twenty-first century from the previous one. Known in its day as the century of technological change, the twentieth century could yet lose its mantle to a century in which mankind is cured of death, barring an accident or natural disaster. Change is relative, which is precisely my point concerning virtual reality and curved screens. Perhaps human perspective is itself curved in a way that only the most transient and titillating image lies in the “sweet spot.”

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[1] Mike Snider, “Finding the Sweet Spot of Curved Displays,” USA Today, January 10, 2014.

[2] Ibid.

[3] Ibid.

[4] Ibid.

[5] Ibid.

[6] Ibid.

[7] Ibid.

[8] Ibid.

[9] USA Today, “Editors’ Choice Awards,” January 10, 2014. I should note that I have no financial interest in Avegant or the Glyph. I am merely using this product to make a broader point.

Is Modern Civilization Immune from Autocratic Rule or Susceptible to It?

Die Welle (The Wave), a German film released in 2008, centers around a week-long mini-course on autocracy. The following question put to the high-school students as well as the film’s viewers: Is a totalitarian regime like the National Socialists in the second quarter of the twentieth century still possible? Undergirding this question is the more basic question pertaining to human nature. Namely, does human nature crave the intensity of collective meaning through uniformity that a dictator can provide?

In his discourse on inequality, Rousseau argues that additional, distinctly artificial, economic (and political) inequalities are all but certain in the unnaturally large social arrangements requiring more social interaction with strangers than was the case when members of the homo sapiens species lived as hunter-gatherers in small groups, or bands.[1] Living in small groups fit well with the human tolerance for interacting with less than 150 people—enough to trust without undue anxiety. Inequalities going along with this congruence were, Rousseau asserts, quite natural—not as large as, say, those between a king or emperor and “the masses.” 

The Wave explores why we mere mortals put up with such inequalities of power, and thus whether autocracy is still possible in Germany, und der Welt. Are we immune, buttressed by the artificial safeguards seemingly built into our modern societies, or do we crave a larger meaning that is ostensibly possible only by subsuming a sense of individuality to blend into a larger whole led and enforced by autocratic artifice?  Are we that hungry to fill the emptiness that ensues from the onslaught of post-modern deconstructivism within the shell of modernity’s fractured communities and families?

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1.  Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Discourse on the Origins of Inequality, Harvard Classics, Charles W. Eliot, ed., Vol. 34 (Cambridge: Harvard University Press,1910).

Inglorious Basterds: A Feat beyond Human Dignity

Thirteen pages into Tarantino’s screenplay for the film, Inglourious Basterds, Col. Landa delivers the film’s thesis statement, essentially encapsulating the entire narrative in one line. “I’m aware,” the SS officer tells the French Jew-hider in his country house, “what tremendous feats human beings are capable of once they abandon dignity.”[1] Landa is referring to the lengths to which Jews in hiding will go to evade being captured. He likens them to rats, yet interestingly refers to their evasive means as feats. Perhaps the SS officer admires his prey in this respect. Perhaps he admires the human instincts that spring into action once dignity has been discarded.

In fact, the Landa character can be characterized by the odd combination of polished politeness and brutal aggression, two seemingly disparate poles, being situated as two natures proximate in one person, one essence.[2] This character is on full display when Landa is in the cinema’s office with the famous German movie star, Bridget Von Hammersmark, whom the SS officer suspects is a spy. At one moment, Landa “very delicately unfastens the thin straps that hold the fräulein’s shoes on her [feet].”[3] As if Landa had turned on a light switch, he suddenly jumped the woman to strangle her “lily-white, delicate neck . . . with all the violence of a lion in mid-pounce.”[4] The janus-face flashed inside Landa manifests now in the exchange between the two characters. 

It is no accident, I suspect, that Tarantino explicitly notes that strangling “the very life out of somebody with your bare hands is the most violent act a human being can commit.”[5] The image of the most violent act possible literally in the same shot with a delicate neck of a cultural aristocrat captures Tarantino’s main point: The giving up of human dignity impacts human instinct, not to mention emotion and behavior, tremendously. Whether the person is a Jew in hiding or an SS officer, the animalistic, predator-prey instincts can kick in with remarkable speed and force, as though a severe thunderstorm rolling in on the plains.

Whether the predatory and primitive survival behaviors are indeed feats is itself an interesting question. As discussed above, the Jew Hunter refers to the survival strategies of the Jews as feats. He obviously does not admire the “rats” themselves. Rather, he admires the extreme measures—more, precisely, that human beings are capable of going so far acting on the instinct of self-preservation once they have decided to abandon their dignity. Likewise, he doubtless identifies with the violent lengths to which human predators can go once they have gently and carefully removed the lady’s shoe. 

Through Landa, Tarantino evinces a fascination with the extremes on both sides of human dignity. Enjoying a dessert in a nice restaurant, Landa clearly relishes his impeccable politeness as something much more than a subterfuge as he interrogates Shosanna, the Jew whose family he had murdered and whose cinema would host the Nazi high command and other Nazi elite for the premiere of Göbbels’ National Pride. This penchant for precise politeness does not detract from Landa leaping to the most violent man-on-man (or movie star) civilian combat possible once he has turned off dignity’s internal switch. Most importantly, the two extremes can coexist without blending in the least. Human nature in its rich, complex (rather than moderate, or “every day”), and stretched condition is itself the feat that Tarantino demonstrates and explores by means of the film.

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1. Quentin Tarantino, Inglourious Basterds (New York: Weinstein Books, 2008), p. 13.

2.  I have in mind the “fully human and fully divine” natures that are in Jesus Christ without blending together within him.

3.  Tarantino, Inglourious Basterds, p. 136.

4. Ibid., p. 137.

5.  Ibid.

Hollywood Bribes China

The Foreign Corrupt Practices Act, known as F.C.P.A., “forbids American companies from making illegal payments to government officials or others to ease the way for operations in foreign countries.”[1] The practical difficulty facing American companies doing business around the world is that in some cultures bribes are so ubiquitous they are simply a part of doing business.  For American companies to refuse to participate in what is generally expected can be a competitive disadvantage, particularly if substitutes exist and the practice is widespread.

The full essay is in Cases of Unethical Business: A Malignant Mentality of Mendacity, available in print and as an ebook at Amazon.

1. Edward Wyatt, Michael Cieply, and Brooks Barnes, “S.E.C. Asks if Hollywood Paid Bribes in China,” The New York Times, April 25, 2012.